


take me to the place where our souls reside (and pray the gods let us rest)

by lydia_rogue



Category: Hades (Video Game 2018)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Blink and you miss it ThanZag, Canon Divergence, M/M, POV Multiple, Post First Successful Escape, Zagreus cannot leave things be, no beta we die like zagreus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-15 00:48:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29055384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lydia_rogue/pseuds/lydia_rogue
Summary: He stares down at the parchment, throat tight with unshed tears. It was a simple agreement: he never steps foot in Elysium and is instead a guard at the House of Hades. In return, Patroclus is allowed to spend eternity in paradise.Achilles doesn't ask questions before he signs.He really should have asked where Patroclus' soul was first.
Relationships: Achilles/Patroclus (Hades Video Game)
Comments: 20
Kudos: 125





	take me to the place where our souls reside (and pray the gods let us rest)

**Author's Note:**

> Canon: Patroclus wasn't heroic enough to get into Elysium on his own.
> 
> Me: fuck you, who do you think you are?

He’d always known that Keres would be the goddess to see him to the afterlife. When you live the life of a warrior, of a famed Myrmidon, there is no other option but to die a violent death. 

Escorted to Erebus, with dozens of others to wait, he finds some measure of peace here he had never been afforded in life. 

Time is meaningless here, but he marks the passage through the breaths he takes out of habit, so he knows it’s not long before the ferryman comes to bring him down river. 

He and a half dozen others - he couldn’t tell you how he’d known the unintelligible groan was his name, summoning him to the boat, but he knew. 

Paying his fare, he stepped onto the boat with Myrmidon and Trojan alike, and Charon pushed off. 

The landscape was alien to him - they couldn’t be that far from the surface and yet there was nothing here he recognized. Architecture from all the ages blended together. Exotic plants from places he’d never gotten the chance to see grow alongside the familiar flora of Greece. 

Eventually the boat followed a tributary of the river, the water running clear. On the horizon, a stadium, larger than anything that had been built on the surface, rises in the distance. 

Elysium. 

He closes his eyes as Charon navigates the boat into the heart of the realm, leaving him and his fellow shades alongside what could have been a surface marketplace. 

None of his companions are keen on talking to one another; their deaths too fresh; the war too close. They all go their separate ways without so much as a goodbye. He finds himself missing them, though, wondering if he had known any of them in life. 

The Myrmidon wanders, his natural curiosity sending him out to explore the realm, the place that would be his new home for the rest of time. 

Lethe, the river of forgetfulness, snakes through the whole of Elysium, a tempting promise of ignorance. 

It would be easier, he supposes, to drink and to forget - forget the war, the pain, the blood - both that others inflicted upon him, and what he had inflicted on others - but he’s not sure he wants to let go. 

Even amongst the painful memories, his beloved is a bright spot, and he doesn’t want to forget that.

They had spent so many nights together, chasing away the darkness that threatened to envelop their minds. They would find peace in each other’s arms, worshiping Aphrodite by night and Ares by day. 

Drinking the river Lethe to forget the latter feels like it would do the former a disservice. 

He should seek his beloved out, he knows. Elysium is the place of heroes, and surely enough time has passed that old wounds have faded. 

It shouldn’t take much - they are known, and with the war ended, so many shades had fought along side - or against the two of them. The whispers of his name, his beloved’s name, follow him wherever he goes. 

But no one can answer the question of where his other half is. 

The stadium would announce his name across the realm if he fought there. Instead of going there, the fallen Myrmidon wanders Elysium, asking after his beloved at every chance he gets. 

And every time he gets a head shake. 

Is his beloved avoiding him? It wouldn’t do to assume the past was behind them just because they were dead. 

He sighs and sits down on the banks of the river Lethe, beneath the shadow of a great statue. 

If Achilles wishes to find him, Patroclus will wait here for him, however long it takes.

* * *

Achilles isn’t sure his body has so much as cooled on the battlefield before his soul is whisked away by the goddess Keres. 

Not many souls are granted a private audience with Lord Hades, fewer still upon death. 

And yet, she brings him into a private chamber in the depths of the underworld, leaving him standing in front of Lord Hades, across from a massive desk. The goddess leaves without a word, in a flash of light. 

Achilles wonders if he should have apologized, knowing how much work he’s created for her.

Lord Hades doesn’t look up from his parchment for a long moment after her departure. “You have created unfathomable amounts of work for us here, shade,” he says, the deep voice echoing in the chamber. 

“My apologies, my lord, I did not intend to disrupt your realm,” Achilles says with a bow. There are few he would bow to - whether they be gods or mortals - but it didn’t do to anger the god who oversaw the realm he would exist in for the rest of eternity. 

Lord Hades waves the words away. “They would have made their way here eventually,” he says, putting away his quill and pulling out a scroll. “According to reports, your beloved Patroclus preceded you to my realm,” he says, unrolling the parchment and looking over it. “He’d taken your armor and donned it, trying to turn the tide of the war you yourself didn’t want to participate in, and in the process died.”

Achilles had not had the time to mourn Patroclus’ death before he’d passed. “Yes, my lord,” he says, the wound of Patroclus’ passing still fresh in his mind. “I hold out hope that we’ll be reunited in the afterlife, so we may have the time together we were not granted during our lives.” 

Lord Hades lays the scroll out on the desk facing Achilles, who does not presume to read it. “You are the son of a king, touched by the gods, a hero of men and an exalted warrior. You’ve been promised by the gods upon Olympus that you will rest for eternity in the comfort of Elysium. Your beloved, in his final hours, took your armor, broke his oaths to your men, and lead countless to their deaths under false pretenses.” Lord Hades sets a quill and ink well down on Achilles’ side of the desk with a resounding thud. “What makes you so certain you two will be granted eternity together?”

Achilles’ head snaps up to look at Lord Hades directly for the first time since entering the chambers. He hadn’t had time to mourn, to process - to _think_. 

To him, Patroclus is a hero, an exalted warrior the same as him. When he dares to think of eternity, he thinks of the fields of Elysium, the eternal rest granted to those who died noble deaths.

If he was feeling particularly morose, he thought they might share Asphodel - not as highly regarded as Elysium, but a quiet, homey existence that is offered to most mortals after they die. 

If the gods didn’t deem the two of them to be heroes, they at least weren’t liars, thieves, murderers. 

His breath hitches, more out of habit than anything. Patroclus isn’t any of those - but he can’t argue with a god. If the gods wanted to cast him into eternal torment based on the last few actions before he died… how was he, a mortal shade to change their mind? He looks plaintively at Lord Hades, not sure what to say. 

The god doesn’t say anything, just gestures to the parchment that lay on the desk between them. 

Achilles takes careful steps forward, worrying that if he moves too quickly he will simply collapse under the weight of the words that have been exchanged. 

“I am in need of a guard for the house, and someone who can train my son to fight,” Lord Hades says as Achilles tries to blink back tears so he can read over the parchment. “This is a pact between yourself and this house, detailing the terms of your service and the considerations granted in exchange.” 

Achilles’ breath shudders as he slowly reads over it. The pact is not long - some might even call it generous. He will be employed as a guard and tutor at the house, but may not step foot in Elysium. 

_As payment for employment, in addition to the standard lodging and salary given to shades employed by the house. Further, the Myrmidon Patroclus will rest for eternity in Elysium._

Tears cause his vision to blur. His selfishness had sent his beloved Patroclus to an early grave; he would not make the same mistake twice and allow his selfishness to force Patroclus to spend eternity in Tartarus.

If they were destined to spend eternity apart, it is a simple decision to save Patroclus from an eternity of torment. It’s not like he would enjoy the plains of Elysium on his own.

He picks up the offered quill and signs without a second thought, just a whispered apology to Patroclus for not listening to him when he had the chance.

* * *

Zagreus does not know how Achilles came to work at the house - he just knows as he starts coming into his godhood, his father introduces him to the shade. 

It doesn’t take long for the two of them to fall into an easy rhythm of training. Time passes strangely in the underworld, especially for a god, but he feels like he’s known Achilles for most of his life. 

He feels comfortable around Achilles, which is more than he can say about his family. 

This ends with him trying not to fidget as he stretches out the soreness in his muscles after a long training session together. 

“Is there something on your mind, lad?” Achilles asks. 

Zagreus didn’t mind the diminutive - it was considerably more affectionate than he’d ever heard the word _boy_ thrown his way. 

Zagreus looks away, face growing warm. Even though they’ve been training together, he’s still not always comfortable speaking his mind. “It’s - sir? Can I ask you about something personal? I’d ask my father, but…” 

He doesn’t quite manage to hide his cringe. There is no way he’s going to ask his father about something like this. 

“Of course, lad,” Achilles says, sitting up. 

“It’s just… you see there’s this god…” His face heats up further. “And I just don’t know how to say something to him? We’re friends, but sometimes…” He runs his hand through his hair. “I just want to kiss him.” 

“Well, lad…” he starts, then grimaces. “You can just tell him, you know.” 

“He’s not much for conversation,” Zagreus says with a sigh. “Did you ever have someone?” 

Achilles smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “I did, once,” he says. “But he was always the braver of the two of us, and he asked me. I don’t think we would have gotten together if he’d left it to me.” 

Zagreus tries not to make a face. Maybe Achilles wasn’t the person to ask either; even he could see there was something the shade didn’t want to share. “I’m worried if I don’t say anything, he never will, regardless of how he feels.” 

“There’s also no rush, lad,” Achilles says, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Do what feels right to you, don’t feel like you have to rush into it.” 

Zagreus slumps a little bit. “I know. And I know that even among gods, it doesn’t have to be forever, but he’s important to me.”

“Then wait, until you’re ready. Love is a powerful thing, lad. It can make even gods make a fool of themselves, but it’s important. No matter what kind of love you feel, don’t ever let yourself lose sight of it, lad.” 

Zagreus almost asks, but ultimately decides against it. Achilles isn’t sharing, and so he won’t press. “Thank you, sir.” 

“Of course, lad.”

* * *

Patroclus had chosen this glade, far from the center of Elysium, in hopes that the location will discourage visits from random shades. 

It doesn’t work, at first. 

The memory of the war is too fresh, and too many of the shades who have their mortal memories remember him and Achilles when they were alive. 

He supposes that will change, in time - whether it’s more of his brothers-in-arms drinking from the river Lethe, or if he will finally give in to temptation and drink to forget himself. 

But for now, the talk is of the war, of him and Achilles - more precisely what happened after Patroclus died. 

_Achilles went mad with rage when his beloved died._

_He strung Hector up from the walls of Troy._

_He killed thousands single-handedly when his beloved died._

_He fought the gods to get him back._

_The gods had to kill him to stop the slaughter._

He’s not sure what is true and what is fiction, but what he takes away from the rumors swirling around Elysium is that his beloved Achilles is dead - passed not long after Patroclus died.

When he was mortal, the idea brought nothing but pain, but now, it brings him some comfort. Perhaps Achilles will find him. 

It becomes easy, then, to justify staying in this glen by the riverbank. If Achilles is looking for him, there are plenty of shades who know where he is. 

He ignores the nagging feeling that Achilles might not _want_ to find him. 

(Why else would Achilles not seek him out?)

* * *

“May I have a word, Achilles?”

Achilles startles at the calm voice of Lady Nyx. While the two had spoken a few times over the years, she never graced the training room before.

“Of course,” he says, looking around the empty room. Zagreus had just left, but Achilles was taking some time to himself before going back to his quarters. “Will this suffice, or do you wish to go somewhere more private?” 

“This works fine,” she says, looking around the room. “I have a task for you, one that must remain between us, for the time being. I am trusting you to be discreet.” 

He nods, back straightening slightly. The pact he signed had specified he would serve the House, with primary duties being guard duty and training. He had never been called upon to do more before.

“I have added a locked wardrobe to your quarters,” she says, extending a key to him. “In it, you will find a number of ancient weapons - some of them familiar to you, others not. I want you to inspect them and ensure they are all in serviceable condition.” She waves her hand, and a new weapons cabinet appears in the training room. “Further, I would like you to incorporate the weapon types into young Zagreus’ training regimen. Everything you’ll need to train him is in there.” 

Achilles takes the key with a bow. “Of course. I will let you know when I am done.” 

“Do not remove the weapons from your quarters, Shade Achilles, and lock them away when you are not there. I have veiled them from prying eyes, but my powers only extend so far.” She offers a rare smile. “You may maintenance the weapons in lieu of standing guard in the west hall this week. Your absence will not be noted,” she says before leaving. 

He has a number of questions, though knows its not his place to ask them. Lady Nyx did not ask things of him lightly.

Feeling off-balance from the interaction, Achilles goes to the new cabinet and opens it. 

Sword, spear, shield, bow - all easy, predictable. He’s already begun to teach Zagreus how to use many of them.

Then a pair of gauntlets, which makes his brow furrow slightly. Hand-to-hand combat had never been his favorite, but he could teach Zagreus more of that - they had, of course, covered the basics already.

The final weapon is unlike any he’s ever seen - a creation of Daedalus, perhaps? He removes it from the cabinet and inspects it carefully. Some sort of ranged weapon - and when he checks, there is now ammunition for it next to the arrows. He’ll have to learn to use it himself before teaching Zagreus, but it couldn’t be too difficult. 

Back in his room, he is sure to close the door fully before opening the new cabinet set along the wall. 

The six weapons tucked away inside the cabinet are - essentially - the same as the ones in the training room, though they clearly are in need of some care, in addition to being live weapons rather than training tools.

However, the power emanating from the weapons nearly knocks him flat. 

Hands trembling, he picks up the spear, his favored weapon.

He knows it immediately - _Varatha_ \- the same weapon he carried once in his mortal days. 

It shifts under his touch, taking on the appearance it had all those years ago. He wonders how many years have passed since he last held it.

There’s not enough room here to properly swing it, and he aches to take it to the training hall. 

Instead, he sits on the bed and whispers a promise to the spear; he will bring it back to its former glory. 

Later, when he takes a break in the lounge, no one comments on his earlier absence from the west hall.

It takes almost the full week to restore all the weapons, taking his time with each and learning their names as he works on them. 

_Stygius_

_Aegis_

_Coronacht_

_Malphon_

_Exagryph_

They had all been carried by gods, once, and it is with great care he handles and restores them.

When he’s done, he finds Nyx at her usual post outside of Zagreus’ quarters, and he returns the key to her without comment, knowing she’ll understand.

“Thank you, Achilles,” she says. “I know you must have questions.” 

“A few,” he admits. “I recognized the spear, at least.” 

She looks away. “My daughters, the Fates, rarely tell me things or ask things of me, particularly about the future. But they told me that the weapons should be prepared, and that you would be best able to ensure they were restored properly.” 

“Prepared for what?” Achilles asks, slightly alarmed. What was he preparing Zagreus to do? The weapons had once felled Titans. 

“I was only told as much as I shared with you when I first approached you with this task,” she says, looking him in the eye. “They were the ones who advised that young Zagreus should be trained in their use. More than that is beyond my knowing, and though I have my suspicions, I cannot share them freely, nor do I wish to ask my daughters for further information.” 

Achilles offers her a slight bow. “Of course, thank you for entrusting me with this task. I will continue to train the lad in their use - he’s made progress, but even he isn’t able to learn how to use so many weapons in such a short span of time.” 

“Of course.” Nyx puts her hand between them, palm up, and after a moment, a small plush ant appears in it. “I wish to offer you this as thanks. He is a Cthonic Companion, woven from the night and tied to you. I know he cannot make up for everything you have lost, but it is my hope Antos’ presence will help you feel less lonely.” 

Achilles gingerly takes the bright orange ant from her hand, not wanting to be so rude as to refuse, even if the memories it brings back are heavy and painful. “Thank you, Lady Nyx,” he says. 

“If given to someone you care about, you will always be able to find each other in your time of need,” she adds, offering a small smile. “I hope, one day, you’re given the chance to use him in such a way.” 

Achilles’ breath catches, suddenly wondering if Nyx is sharing something more from her daughters, or if she is just extending a kindness to him.

Regardless, by the time he is able to offer his thanks again, she has left the hallway, presumably to fetch the weapons from his chambers. 

He stares down at Antos, not able to force himself to smile at the reminder of his past. The ant had been the symbol of the Myrmidons. 

He wonders if there are any left on the surface to remember that now.

* * *

For Zagreus, the hardest part of trying to leave the underworld was knowing how many people he is trying to leave behind. 

Zagreus knows it can’t make up for his absence, but he finds himself providing his friends trinkets and gifts he finds while ransacking the underworld. It’s not like he’s made it very far, yet, but he’s _trying_ and there’s no point in leaving ill will behind, especially when he hasn’t actually gotten very far yet. 

Nectar becomes his gift of choice, trying to keep a bottle on hand for his one-time mentor and now one of the few friends who had been supportive of him from the start. 

Recovering from the indignation of having lost to the bone hydra once more, Zagreus heads over to Achilles and offers him another bottle of nectar. 

This time, however, Achilles doesn’t take it from him immediately. 

“I don’t want you to get the wrong idea, lad,” he says with the tight smile he gets whenever he’s about to talk about his past, when he was a mortal. “But my heart belongs to another.”

Zagreus doesn’t falter, though, as that had not been his intention. “I had figured as much, sir,” he says, still holding the nectar out. “If you would like me to look for them, sir, I’m more than happy to try for you.”

Achilles takes the nectar, clearly with some reluctance still. “It’s all right, lad, I know his fate, and it’s been so long, I’m not sure I’d have anything to say to him now.” 

“Of course, sir. If you change your mind, let me know. I haven’t made it to Elysium yet, but I’m sure I will soon.” 

Achilles flinches at that. 

“Sir?”

“Sorry, lad, just… what makes you so sure he’ll be in Elysium?”

Zagreus opens his mouth, then closes it. “It - sir, I’ve seen the kind of person you are. It only follows the person you love so dearly would also have a place in the Elysian fields, but you’re right, sir, I shouldn’t presume.”

Achilles offers him a tight smile. “It’s all right, lad, I know you didn’t mean any harm. Let me know if there’s anything else I can help you with, all right?” 

Zagreus takes that as a sign to take his leave, quietly promising to try and find out what happened to Achilles’ partner.

* * *

With nothing to do but sit and stare at the river, Patroclus finds his thoughts wandering to the possibility of drinking from it too often. 

Over the years, the pain has numbed, leaving behind nothing. 

He’s given up he’ll find any sort of purpose here in Elysium - fighting isn’t attractive to him any more, and he does not have the energy to wander to the quieter parts of the realm and field questions from curious shades who know of the great Achilles and Patroclus. 

He’s also given up hoping Achilles will come find him. Perhaps he’s been whisked away to some afterlife more glorious than this one, or perhaps he has drunk of the river Lethe and forgotten.

Patroclus sighs and runs a hand through the cool water. 

Perhaps he has nothing left to give the river, even if he were to drink from it. (Perhaps he’s not ready to die again.)

The gates at the edge of the glade clang open and Patroclus sighs. 

Few shades wander into this corner of Elysium. There’s no honor to be found in fighting someone who does not defend himself. 

The hesitant steps are of someone who weighs more than a shade, which catches his attention. There are few who in the underworld who would sound as such. 

Power radiates from the young man who stops in front of him, reeking of godhood. His black chiton and bloodied sword set him apart from the endless cool greens and blues of the shades in Elysium.

“Hail, stranger,” he says. He has no interest in the affairs of the gods, but nor does he wish to offend them. They have already meddled too much in his life, there was no need to invite more. 

The god looks around the glade, seemingly satisfied there are no threats here. “Do you mind if I rest here a bit, sir?” 

“It matters not to me,” Patroclus says, starting to look away. He doesn’t know the god in front of him and he has no wish to learn his name. But there’s something about the lad’s armor that causes him to pause. A single bracer, not unlike his own, adorns the lad’s left arm.

The stranger sheathes his sword and sits in the grass, falling back to stare up at the sky. “Just for a moment,” he says; Patroclus isn’t sure he’s meant to hear. 

“How did you come by that bracer, stranger?” he asks. There aren’t many Myrmidons around who haven’t drunk deep of the river Lethe. Fewer still who wear the armor openly. 

Patroclus thought he was among the last.

The stranger lifts his left arm, as if he didn’t remember he wore it. “It was a gift, from my teacher - a shade who works in the house of Hades.” 

Curiosity piqued, he asks, “May I ask the shade’s name?” He hadn’t known there were mortals employed at the House of Hades, much less brothers in arms. 

“Achilles, sir.”

Patroclus startles, grateful he’s sitting down. _Achilles_. “Now that’s a name I have not heard in a long time,” he says, mostly to himself. He doesn’t even allow himself to think the name most days. The memories, even the happy ones, have become too painful in his absence.

“Did you know him?” the stranger asks, sitting up.

Patroclus lets out a short, pained noise that is almost a laugh. “I thought I did, at one point. How is it a shade such as he found work at the House of Hades?”

The stranger regards him carefully, bright mis-matched eyes seeming to bore into his soul. “I can’t say I know for certain, sir. I know he is in my father’s employ as a guard and a tutor. Achilles taught me to fight, though I’m sure my father is regretting that now.” 

Patroclus scoffs. “Of course the gods have taken the best for their own purposes. If you should see him again…” he pauses, then shakes his head. No, there’s nothing he can say to Achilles now.

The stranger tilts his head. “Sir? I’d be happy to carry a message back to him. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him leave the house to visit someone, I suspect he would be grateful to hear from an old friend.”

Patroclus looks away. “No, stranger. There’s nothing I could rightly tell him now. It’s been too long, the distance too great.” 

“If you’re certain, sir.” The god stands and stretches. “Thank you, for the hospitality at least.”

Patroclus nods and pulls some jerky out. He has no need for the gifts he’s been offered over the years, having sworn off joining the fights. “For your troubles, stranger.” 

“Zagreus,” he offers alongside a quiet thank you for the jerky. 

Patroclus does not offer up his name in turn, instead going back to looking out over the river Lethe and contemplating what it might be like to drink deeply of it and to let everything go. 

The numbness that had set in eons ago was not so easily overcome by a name, but he worries it may not last if the stranger stops by again.

* * *

The sound of Zagreus coming back from the outer reaches of the Underworld is a unique one. The gentle lapping of the river Styx is interrupted by the splashing of a body crawling out - completely different from the sound of the shades who emerge silently. 

Achilles allows himself a sad smile, knowing Zagreus has once again failed to reach the surface in pursuit of his mother. 

Hypnos yelps, as always, at being awoken from his nap and Achilles can see his one-time student offering Cerberus a much-needed head scratch.

Unlike his prior runs, though, rather than racing off to the broker or contractor first, Zagreus walks straight over to Achilles - even ignoring Thanatos who is currently brooding at the balcony overlooking the River Styx.

“How goes it, lad?”

“I made it to Elysium,” Zagreus says, brow furrowing with the memory. “It’s as beautiful as I imagined, but…” 

“Is something amiss?”

He rubs the bracer Achilles had given him. “I met a shade, a Myrmidon, perhaps? He claims to have known you, but wouldn’t give me his name.” 

Achilles heart clenches in his chest. “There are many shades in Elysium who would know of me,” he says, quietly. “Myrmidon and not.” 

“His outfit was not unlike yours, spear, long curly brown hair tamed by a laurel crown, his skin nearly as dark as his hair, and…”

“…and a long beard,” Achilles finished for him, closing his eyes. “Patroclus.”

“Sir?”

It takes Achilles a moment to find his voice. “How is he, lad?”

Even he can hear the longing in the question, even though he’d meant it to be neutral. 

“He seems… sad,” Zagreus offers. “He was sitting alone, in a beautiful glade, on the outer edges of the realm. He barely looked at me, preferring to stare out over the river.” 

“But he remembered me? He hasn’t forgotten?”

“No, sir. He didn’t really want to talk with me until he recognized the bracer, and I mentioned your name. He started to say something - maybe ask me to bring you a message, but changed his mind.” 

Achilles looks away. “Thank you, lad.” 

“Do you want me to say anything to him, if I see him again?” 

Achilles shakes his head, staring out at nothing as Zagreus takes his leave quietly.

 _Patroclus_. 

He hadn’t allowed himself to think about his beloved in too long. Trapped in an eternity apart, it had been much too painful to think about him for any length of time. 

But now, old wounds reopened under the well-meaning help Zagreus wanted to provide. 

The lad has no way of knowing the depth of pain or their relationship. He knows Zagreus is just trying to do something kind, which only makes the offer more painful.

* * *

Zagreus mutters under his breath as he paws through the files - cabinets taller than he is, and rolled pacts stuffed in every corner with what seems to be a haphazard filing system, makes finding what he’s looking for difficult (even though Nyx told him exactly where to look).

“You know, when Lord Hades fired you, I never thought you’d step foot in this chamber again - not willingly at least.” 

Zagreus jumps at Thantos’ voice, not having heard him come in. “Than!” He abandons his search to bound over to his friend. “What are you doing here?” 

“Trying to find out what you’re doing here,” he says. 

The shades around the two of them shift, clearly uncomfortable in the presence of the two gods. 

“Well…” he winces. “Look, I know you’re not a huge fan of Sisyphus,” he starts, rubbing the back of his neck. “And I know you’re worried he’s trying to do something underhanded, but honestly Thanatos, he’s the only reason I made it past Meg and out of Tartarus the first few times. I figured if I looked at the pact, maybe I could make Meg ease off him a little or something.” 

Thanatos sighs. “The Knave-King has been helping you, truly? Not some trick or underhanded way of hurting you?”

Zagreus shakes his head. “He’s made the best out of his circumstances, and honestly Than, if it upsets you, I won’t, but I figure it’s a way to thank him for all the times he’s helped me.” 

The God of Death rubs his eyes. “It’s been a long time - I’m not sure the rest of eternity pushing that boulder up the hill is going to make me feel better about the situation. If he has genuinely been helping you, I won’t stop you.” 

“Bouldy,” Zagreus says, almost absent-mindedly, as he goes back to searching for the file he’s looking for. “The boulder’s name is Bouldy.” 

Thanatos lets out a snort. “Well then, so long as he doesn’t hurt you, I don’t see why not. Though I’d be careful about changing too many pacts - even if you’re allowed to, I can’t imagine your father being pleased about the situation.” 

Zagreus grins as he finds the crumpled piece of parchment, accidentally crushed by a newer folder. “I won’t, Than. I know a lot of the folks, especially in Tartarus got what they deserved, but eternity is a long time, and folks can learn and change even here.” 

Than nods. “I trust your judgement. Take care, Zag.” 

Zagreus shakes his head as Thanatos disappears in a flash of green light, grateful for his friend’s approval. 

On his own way out of the chambers, he stops to talk to Achilles. 

“You’re allowed back into the administrative chambers, lad? I never thought I’d see the day.” 

“Just helping out a friend,” he says with a grin, though pauses, half-remembering a conversation they’d had a lifetime ago about Achilles working at the house. “Say Achilles, didn’t you say you signed some sort of pact with my father? Do you want me to look into it, see if I can alter the terms some for you?”

“Aye, lad, but it was a fair trade. Please, don’t go sticking your nose into this for my sake.” The smile he gets from Achilles is tight and pained. 

Zagreus’ brow furrows. “If you’re sure, sir.” 

Achilles only nods, staring out into the great hall, with just a tightness around his eyes to give away his grief. 

_I’ll fix this,_ Zagreus tells himself as he goes to pay the fee for Sisyphus’ contract.

* * *

The cool waters of the Lethe taunt him as he stares out into space. He’s had no visitors since the first time the stranger had stumbled across his chamber at the edge of Elysium, and part of him prefers it like that. The stranger is kind, but asks too many questions - and brings up too many memories. He’s not ready to forget them, but neither is he ready to remember them. 

The sharp, metallic clang of the gate does not startle him, but he sighs at the sound of the rushed footsteps. 

“Hello, stranger,” Patroclus says, not looking up. 

The stranger is bloodied this time, panting hard and wounds seeping blood. Was he not a god, then, as Patroclus had assumed? Could gods bleed red like mortals? 

“Patroclus,” the stranger says with confidence. “You’re Patroclus, aren’t you?”

He closes his eyes, as if shutting out the world would keep the memories at bay. “So you’ve spoken with Achilles, then, stranger?”

“Yes sir,” he says. “He knew your name, just from your description, and wanted to know how you were doing.”

“And what did you tell him, stranger?” Patroclus asks, looking up at him. “That his once-beloved Patroclus is wasting away in Elysium, no purpose or direction?” It perhaps would have sounded angry, had he any emotions left.

The stranger looks at him straight on, and Patroclus tries not to pull away. He is a god, then, for only a god could make him shy away with nothing more than a look. “I told him you were here, that you remembered him, sir.”

“And how did he take the news that I was in Elysium without him?” 

“He seemed to know, sir. He looked sad. He doesn’t talk about…” the stranger gestures at his bracer “the war, his time as a mortal, how he came to work at the house, not ever.” 

Patroclus nods. He doesn’t either, even when shades come to talk to him and ask after the war-hero Patroclus. “Do you think you’ll see him again, stranger?” 

And the god got a far-away look, staring out onto the horizon. “I will, sir.” There’s a mournful tone to his voice, echoing much of how Patroclus feels these days. Patroclus doesn’t feel like it’s his place to ask. 

“Will you tell him I’m doing all right, then, should he ask?” 

“Of course, sir,” he says. 

Patroclus tosses him some hydralite. “Don’t worry about seeing him too soon on my account, stranger. Do what you came here to do.” 

“Thank you, sir,” he says before heading off to the next area. 

Patroclus leans back and stares up at the never-changing sky. The stranger is trouble, of that he is certain. But perhaps it’s the kind of trouble-making that the two of them need.

He’s not sure he wants to hear if Achilles has an answer for him, or if he will be left with open wounds that won’t quite heal.

* * *

Achilles has become accustomed to the sound of Zagreus coming back through the river Styx at this point. He must have heard the sound a couple dozen times by now, and while it makes his heart ache for the lad, he understands why he keeps doing it over and over. 

Had he not gone to such extents for the ones he loved at one point, too? 

Zagreus, as has become his custom, stops by the west hall first, shyly giving the God of Death a bottle of ambrosia - _ah, to be young and in love again,_ he thinks to himself - before coming to talk to Achilles. 

“How is it, lad?” he asks as his standard greeting. 

“I got to see her again,” Zagreus says, smile going soft. “I’m trying to convince her to come back - I don’t know if I’ll be successful, but I’ve got to try.” 

Achilles nods, wondering if he should ask - part of him hates how needy he feels whenever he asks about Patroclus. He doesn’t want to take away from Zagreus’ happiness about seeing his mother, but he’s begun to ache for any news of his beloved, no matter how little Zagreus can offer. 

After a moment, though, Zagreus sighs, smiling still. “Though, sir, I’m sure you’re more interested in hearing about the other person I saw this time.”

Achilles tries not to blush. “Did you see him, lad? Is he doing all right?” 

The smile fades, and Achilles’ heart sinks. “He wanted me to tell you he’s doing all right, sir.” 

Achilles doesn’t miss the distinction - Zagreus is not saying Patroclus is doing okay; he’s saying that Patroclus is wanting him to tell Achilles that, regardless of how he’s actually doing. It’s not the first time Patroclus has tried to pass this message on through Zagreus, but it’s the first time the lad has been distracted enough with having visited his mother to let the truth slip out. “How is he really doing, lad?”

Zagreus sighs. “Much the same, sir. I find him in this lovely glade in Elysium - on the edges, as far as I can tell, what with everything shifting all the time - and he seems so depressed. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him move from that spot. I hear him talking sometimes - reminiscing about you; asking himself how he got there when you aren’t; occasionally trying to…” Zagreus cuts himself off.

“Lad?” he prompts when Zagreus doesn’t continue, the grip on his spear tightening.

“It sounds like he’s trying to talk himself into drinking from the river Lethe,” Zagreus says softly. “He hasn’t, not yet. He remembers you, your time as mortals,” he hastens to reassure Achilles.

But the blow is painful all the same. He knew that there was always a chance that Patroclus would drink and forget who he is, but to hear that he hasn’t… He can only hope Patroclus will continue to resist. 

“Sir… are you sure there’s nothing I can do to help you? Whatever you signed with my father, I can look into it…” 

Achilles shakes his head, even if he feels his heart cracking with the motion. “Lad, please,” he all but begs. “Do not ask this of me.”

“But why?” Zagreus says. “You’re both clearly miserable - if my father has something on you or…” 

Achilles sighs. He’d all but raised the young god; he knew how he got when he had his heart set on something. “All right, lad, since you won’t let it go. I ask you do not share the details of it, not even with Patroclus - though it’s not as bad as you’re imagining. When I signed on with the house, I gave up my spot in Elysium to Patroclus.” He looks away, blinking back what would have been tears in his mortal form. “Initially he wasn’t sent into Elysium, you see.

“It wasn’t fair, it wasn’t right - I was not going to abandon Patroclus to the furies!” His voice climbs louder than he intends, and then he winces, knowing that Zagreus has come to some sort of understanding with at least one of them. 

Zagreus looks, in a word, devastated. His expression somber, he insists, “There has to be a way for me to make this right. Not just for him, for you.”

“I don’t think it’s worth it, lad. At least here, I have you, the house, a _purpose_.” Achilles closes his eyes in a vain attempt to keep his composure. “I wouldn’t be able to live with myself, knowing I could have saved him.” Almost as a whisper, more for himself, “Not a second time.” 

“If that’s what you think is best, sir.” Zagreus clasps his shoulder and heads back into the main hall, making his usual rounds. 

Achilles leans on his spear more than is proper, but he thinks he may collapse if it weren’t for its support. 

_Fear is for the weak_ , the two of them had always said when they were mortals. 

This wasn’t fear, though, not really. He would do anything to protect Patroclus in the afterlife the way he hadn’t when they still walked the earth.

* * *

Zagreus tried not to be irritated as he paid the fees to amend the contract that bound Orpheus to the house. He was happy for his friend, but the _ease_ in which he was able to amend the contract makes Achilles’ unwillingness to take a risk all the more infuriating. 

He’s going to _fix this_ if it’s the last thing he does.

* * *

“What news, stranger?” Patroclus asks as he hears the chamber doors open. 

The two of them are hardly strangers at this point, having encountered one another a dozen times or so, but it’s become a habit, an affectionate nickname. 

Zagreus sighs and sits down next to Patroclus. “I learned how Achilles came to work in my father’s house,” he says without preamble. 

“And how is that?”

“He was offered a trade,” he says. “If he came to work in the House of Hades, you would be allowed to spend eternity here, in Elysium.”

Patroclus’ brow furrows. “What do you mean, stranger? What would he get out of such a trade?”

“He wanted to ensure your happiness, sir. I didn’t press, but he seemed convinced you…” The stranger flinches. “Well, you were not destined for Elysium, originally. I cannot blame you if you’ve given those memories up to the Lethe.”

Patroclus frowns. “But I’ve been here the entire time, stranger. I remember coming to the underworld - I’ve never been anywhere but here.” 

“What do you mean, sir?”

Patroclus brushes back his hair with his hand, a nervous tick he’d never quite rid himself of. “Stranger, I swear to you, I remember meeting Keres, being brought to the ferryman’s boat, and Charon letting me off here, in Elysium. I was always here, so why would my Achilles trade his spot at my side to -” 

_He abandoned me._

The thoughts swirl about his mind, growing darker by the moment. Achilles had left him, not by some fluke of fate but - 

“- sir!” Zagreus says, not quite a shout, shaking his shoulder. “Patroclus, sir - I don’t know what happened, in truth, all I know is what Achilles told me. He would not have left you here willingly if he’d known, of that I am certain.” 

Did he believe that? Did he _want_ to believe that? “How can you be so certain, stranger?” 

“I’ve seen the way he looks when he talks about you, heard his tone of voice, sir.” Zagreus looks away. “My father is not a kind man, sir. When he wants something, he’ll go to great lengths to make it his.” There’s a sadness to his tone Patroclus has not heard before, and he realizes he can only think of a handful of times the lad has spoken of his father. “Achilles doesn’t want to risk your happiness here, sir. I think I’ve found a way to help, but he doesn’t want me to make things worse for you. I wanted to change the terms of the pact, let him visit here when he’s not on duty, but he doesn’t want to risk your freedom for that.” 

Patroclus looks away, out over the Lethe. “We have everything to gain, and nothing more to lose,” he says. “Risk it all, stranger - and if he asks what I want - tell him that’s what I said.” 

The stranger - _Zagreus, prince of Hell_ nods. “For you, I will.”

And as he dashes off into the next chamber, Patroclus starts to feel something he’s not entertained in a long time - 

_hope_.

* * *

The familiar pattern of Zagreus climbing out of the River Styx is somehow comforting, this time. Would he bring news of his Patroclus? Sometimes he would go several runs without making it to Elysium, or the Fates wouldn’t guide him to Patroclus’ chambers before sending him to the colosseum to fight his way to the surface. 

But more often than not lately, Zagreus would bring with him word of Patroclus. 

Even though Pat insisted he was doing all right, Achilles could hear the pain in the messages Zagreus brought, and see the sadness in his face when he spoke of Patroclus. 

Gods, had they not suffered enough? 

He tried not to look too eager when Zagreus made a beeline for the west hall, not even stopping to say hello to Cerberus. 

But instead of stopping to talk to him, Zagreus disappeared into the administrative chamber, which even had Thanatos turning to stare. Zagreus _hated_ that place, so what drove him there now, without so much as stopping to look at anyone else in the meantime? 

Thanatos, not bound to stand guard over the River, ventures into the chamber when they hear a loud crashing sound emanating from within. Achilles winces, feeling for the shades who would be in charge of cleaning it up - hoping, for her sake, Dusa would be spared from the task this time. 

It isn’t long before Zagreus comes flying out of the chamber, Thanatos close behind him. 

His one-time student goes into the main hall while Thanatos lingers by Achilles, eyes fixated on what was happening. 

Achilles could see into the hall as the guard, but couldn’t quite make out the words being said, in part because Zagreus had begun to shout at his father, waving about several pieces of parchment. 

He frowns, wondering if he would need to intervene for the first time. His years as a guard were largely ceremonial, no doubt a feather in Hades’ cap to have the famous Achilles relegated to guard duty in his home. 

But then he hears his own name carry into the hall, Zagreus sounding infuriated.

Gods, what had he done?

Thanatos puts a hand on his shoulder as he starts to shift forward, to stop him or to run, even Achilles does not know. “Let him,” he says, voice low. 

“Let him what?” 

Thanatos’ brow furrows. “He’s determined to fix this - you know how he gets.” 

Lord Hades’ face is darkening, and Lady Nyx is also speaking with a raised voice, pointing at Lord Hades and then the parchment. Zagreus still yelling. The flames around his feet have grown up to nearly his knees, leaving scorch marks on the floor. 

“Enough,” Lord Hades says, cutting through the voices and the word all but shakes the foundations of the house. He snaps his fingers and one of the pieces of parchment catches fire, burning to ash in Lady Nyx’s hands. “I will hear no more of amending pacts that shades signed willingly, or changing punishments for those who deserve it, am I understood?”

Achilles’ heart sinks into his stomach. He knows Zagreus had just wanted to help, but…

He shouldn’t have hoped. 

The light pressure of the pact he signed lifts, letting him know it’s time for a break, or perhaps that his shift is over. He’s completely lost track of time. He can’t bring himself to care one way or the other, so long as he can leave for his quarters.

He bids farewell to the God of Death and disappears into his chambers to rest.

* * *

Zagreus knocks on the door to Achilles’ chambers, not sure if his mentor is still in the house. 

After a moment, the door cracks. “I’m sorry lad, I’m poor company at the moment.” 

“Sir, I was going to offer to help you pack,” he says, brow furrowing. 

“Pack? What do you mean, lad?” 

Zagreus shifts his weight. “I don’t think any of us expect you to stick around here now that your contract is nullified. You are, of course, welcome to stay, but I honestly thought you might already be in Elysium.”

Achilles’ hand falls from the door, allowing it to swing all the way open. Inside the chambers is a nearly-empty room, with only the most basic of furniture.

The only sign this is Achilles’ room is the stuffed ant sitting on the bed. 

“I - I thought your father was…” he gestures uncertainly. “Preventing you from releasing me,” he finally settles on. 

Zagreus feels his face grow hot. “I may have yelled at him about tricking you and I can’t say he’s _happy_ I’ve changed the terms of so many pacts, but Nyx was on our side, sir, and I think her voice brought him around. You’re free, you have no more obligations to the House of Hades.” 

“Tricking me, lad?” Achilles asks. 

Zagreus straightens his shoulders. “Patroclus was _in Elysium_ when you signed the pact, sir. He’s always been there.” 

He stares at a spot over Zagreus’ shoulder. “Be that as it may, I’m not sure I deserve his forgiveness, not now, not after so much -”

“I can’t say I’ve known him as long as you have, sir, but based on our conversations, I don’t think he’s holding anything against you at this point.” Zagreus presses a bottle of ambrosia into Achilles’ hand. “You’re always welcome back here if it doesn’t work out for you, but, sir, I think he’s waited long enough, don’t you?”

Achilles nods and gives him a weak smile. “Thank you, lad, for everything. I think I’d prefer to pack on my own, though, if it’s all the same to you.”

“Of course, sir, and I hope to see you both out there soon.” Zagreus smiles and leaves Achilles to his packing.

* * *

Patroclus finds himself watching the fish in the river Lethe when he hears the sound of a portal opening up into the room. It’s not wholly unfamiliar to him - the occasional shade did stop by, and the stranger had come here that way once after fighting Charon. 

_”Why were you fighting the boatman?”_

_”Sparring, really, and it was because I borrowed some Obols from him.”_

_Patroclus sputtered. “You_ stole _from Charon?”_

The footsteps are slow, almost pained. He wonders if Zagreus had been fighting Charon again. “If you’re quiet, stranger, there are charp about,” he says, not looking up. 

The footsteps pause, near where he usually stands when he comes by. “Stranger.” 

Patroclus’ own word, echoed back to him.

It’s not Zagreus who says it.

 _Chokes_ on it.

As if the word would kill him again on its way out of his throat.

As if the word _had_ killed him again to hear it.

Patroclus’ head snaps up. The shade’s face has crumpled, looking between Patroclus and the river Lethe, tears filling his bright blue eyes as he tries to form a question. The fear in his face is clear: was he too late? Had Patroclus given up on him? 

“ _Achilles_.” It comes out half prayer, half whisper, and he scrambles to his feet, nearly tripping over his chiton as he does. “I thought you were -” he shakes his head, it doesn’t matter who. 

His lover drops the spear he carries and sweeps him up into his embrace. “ _Patroclus_ ,” he whispers, same reverent tone. “My love, my heart - I’m sor-” 

Patroclus presses his lips against Achilles’ to silence him, meaning to pull back and explain, but instead gets lost in the kiss. They go slowly, reacquainting themselves with the other’s mouth, until eventually Patroclus pulls away, nipping Achilles’ lower lip. “The stranger - Zagreus - explained it love. I understand why you did what you did, and what happened in our mortal life, have we not paid penance enough?” Another soft kiss. “We have time, whenever you’re here,” he says into the crook of Achilles’ neck. 

“I’m not leaving you again, Pat.” 

“But your duties at -” 

“Zagreus was able to completely dissolve the pact I signed; I am free to live out eternity in Elysium.” Patroclus’ arms tighten - he hadn’t dared hope for this much. “We have all the time in the world.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm over on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/LydiaRogue), though it's a personal account not a fandom one!


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